I come from a very talented artistic family--artistic in the romantic sense of hours spent stretching canvases, living in studios smelling of oil paint and turpentine, watercolor painting in plein air--that sort of thing. I inherited none of that talent, not in the lovely, traditionally romantic sense, anyway.
It's always been a bit of a secret disappointment.
But, you know, I follow a lot of incredible writers/makers/photographers on my various social medias, and I've begun to realize that daily life *is* art, captured spontaneously with no filter, no planning, no formal study, and no need to compromise for audience or critics. This whole gorgeous, messy, colorful jumble can be framed--not to make the best impression, to garner the most followers, or to kindle envy, but to capture all of this constant, unexpected beauty.
We need nothing but intention enough to inspire our eye away from its constant inward focus.